


Might Be It

by Bhujerban



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Phantom Thieves of Hearts as Family, Pining, Post-Game(s), Romance, like a lot of pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhujerban/pseuds/Bhujerban
Summary: It’s easy to vow to fix the world when you’re seventeen and you have stars in your eyes and a phone in your hand that helps you change the hearts of the corrupt. But when you’re twenty-seven and tired and the world has let you down too many times, happy endings feel like a childhood dream.Niijima Makoto, now in graduate school following a disappointing five years in the police department, is listless and lost in a world that feels too big for her. When her path crosses once again with Amamiya Ren, she is forced to confront the past, herself, and ultimately come to realize that maybe change and happiness can come from the little things.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Might Be It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I finished Persona 5 a little while ago and at first started shipping ShuMako ironically, but now I'm unironically writing fic. So here's something I've been working on. It's a character exploration of sorts for my favourite P5 girl.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> A big thanks to [ecrutea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrutea/pseuds/ecrutea) for being my one-person support team--this story wouldn't have happened without her enthusiastic encouragement.

Niijima Makoto considers herself to be a good person. She always gives up her seat on the bus to the elderly, she holds the door open for people, heck, she spent her last year of high school reforming society through the Metaverse! That’s why it seems especially unfair that, on the one day she prayed for good weather, the sky is pouring down sheets of torrential rain, soaking both her and her cardboard boxes.

She huffs a little as she sets down her last box. The elevator is filled with her moving boxes. They’re stacked as neatly as she could manage, but she can already see spots where the wet cardboard is sagging and threatening to topple over. She dashes out to where the rental truck is temporarily stopped out front and navigates it into the visitor’s parking lot.

A few weeks ago, Makoto did her apartment tour on a sunny spring afternoon. The walk from the visitor’s lot to the lobby had been a pleasant stroll down a charmingly decorated path. Today, she curses the distance and the stupid decorative hedges as she sprints down the path.

Her sandals make squishy noises as she steps into the lobby. She takes a breath, tucks her (dripping) hair behind her ears, ignores the sympathetic gaze of the doorman, and makes her way into the elevator. She was more than a little frustrated with herself for packing away her raincoat. She knew exactly where it was too (in the box labelled Outerwear—Spring)!

As the elevator doors pull shut, she lets herself slump into her boxes. She rubs her temples as she watches the floor numbers rise. This isn’t exactly how she’d planned her Brand New Start.

The elevator pings, the number six flashes, and the doors begin to open. Makoto straightens up. No feeling sorry for herself. _Not today._ With that, she turns, picks up a stack of boxes, and steps out of the elevator.

And directly into someone.

The boxes, piled taller than she is, tumble over and break open. She stares at the mess. Then lets out a half hysterical laugh.

“Oh shit! Are you—wait—Makoto?”

Her gaze shoots up. _That voice_ — “Ren?”

Amamiya Ren stares back at her.

Makoto takes a small step back. He looks…good. His hair is still as she remembers, a bit long, fluffy, but artfully tousled. Ren had always been handsome, in that devil-may-care way. Back in high school, he’d been tall and lean with a heart stopping smile. But since then, he’s managed to fill out his stature and somehow become even more charming. His grey eyes, friendly and warm, seem to be taking her in too.

She runs her fingers through her bangs, suddenly horrible conscious of the way her wet hair is matted down to her scalp and her t-shirt is clinging awkwardly to her skin.

They look at each other for a moment.

“H-hi!” Makoto hates the way her voice squeaks a little. “Ren! What a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I uh…” he gestures behind him, “I live here. What are you…?”

She blinks. “Oh! I guess that makes us neighbours.”

He raises a brow. “You’re moving in? I didn’t realize you left your old place. Last I heard…” he trails off. Probably realizing that it’s been a while since she’d been in touch. She winces inwardly at the thought.

“I—yeah.” She breaks their eye contact and moves to gather her boxes again. “Some things were changing, so I needed a new place.”

Ren’s hand on her arm stops her movement. Her eyes shoot up to meet his again. Against her clammy, rain-soaked skin, his hand is warm, soothing. Something long buried and half-forgotten in heart gives a ridiculous thump.

“Are you doing this all by yourself?” he asks her.

“Yes?” she says, a bit confused by his question. “I live by myself.”

“No, I mean, are you doing the moving part alone?”

“Oh. Yes. Sundays are sis’s only day off, so I didn’t want to bother her. It’s just moving, so I figured I could handle it alone.”

Ren looks at her a little incredulously, then at the boxes littered across the floor, _then_ at the stacks of boxes in the elevator. Makoto resists the urge to blush.

“It’s not too bad!” she insists. “Just a couple of boxes and I had them all packed already anyway, so—”

“Makoto,” his voice is soft, but a little stern, “why didn’t you text the group chat? Any one of us would have been happy to help.”

She bites her lip and looks away. In truth, asking the former Phantom Thieves group chat for help did not even cross her mind. Actually, it didn’t cross her mind to ask _anybody_ for help. She was the one moving, after all and it wasn’t like she was moving across the country—she was just moving a few stations north. Ren should know that. Or maybe not, since they haven’t been close in a while.

“I can handle it,” she says at last. “It’s just moving.”

Ren sighs, “I know you can. I’m just—” he cuts himself off and glances down at his watch “—let me help.”

“No, no.” Makoto shoves a few errant shoes back into the box. “You were on your way somewhere. I can’t keep you.”

He bends over and picks up a pillow (which boxes did she drop—?). “I was just going to the grocery store. That can wait.”

“Ren, seriously, I’m fine.” She knows she’s coming across defensive, but she can’t help it. She hates pity and she especially hates it from _him._ “I just have to move the boxes into the apartment and unpack them, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” She moves a little faster, haphazardly stuffing things into boxes without checking the labels.

“Makoto.” His hands cover hers and she stills. He is warm and solid ( _and still dependable,_ her ridiculous mind adds) and he’s not looking at her with pity. “Please let me help.”

She withdraws her hands. _It’s strange,_ she thinks, _the way time changes some things but can’t change others._

She breathes in and her breath rattles through her chest, shaking her internal walls. She nods. “Okay,” she says, her voice coming out softer than she would have liked. “Okay.”

* * *

With Ren’s help, moving everything in goes much faster than Makoto would like to admit. And, despite her protests, he stays to help her assemble furniture. The two of them work together smoothly, passing each other furniture parts and tools without a second thought. It feels like a weird extension of their high school Metaverse cooperation, but instead of taking down shadows, they’re building shelves.

Makoto takes a step back as Ren tightens the last screw on the bookshelf and takes a look around. A few boxes remain unpacked, but most of her furniture is assembled. It’s beginning to feel like her space.

“That should do it,” Ren says as he admires his handiwork. “Hopefully it won’t collapse under the weight of all your books.”

She laughs lightly. “It looks fine.” She sets a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Ren.”

He smiles at her. There is something nostalgic about this moment—standing shoulder to shoulder with him, smiling at each other after a job well done. There is a beat. Her arm drops to her side. His eyes soften and his expression shifts. He’s looking at her like he’s trying to read her. Like he’s trying to understand something. He opens his mouth—

And his stomach emits a loud growl.

He shuts his mouth. The moment is over. Makoto bursts into giggles.

True to form, Ren takes it in a stride. He laughs, sliding his hands into his pockets in a familiar gesture. “I’d better go to the grocery store before my stomach makes any more announcements.”

“I have a better idea,” she says. “Why don’t we get dinner? My treat. A thank you for your help today.”

“I should be treating you, as a welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not? You just got here—you don’t even know where to take me.”

“Of course, I do! I did a thorough investigation of the neighbourhood before I moved here. I was going to suggest the curry shop around the corner!”

Ren shakes his head, smiling as he says, “You never change, do you, Queen?”

Makoto freezes as the nickname slips from his lips. It’s been years since anybody has called her that. It’s been years since she’s been _Queen._ The name chafes a little, like a shoe that doesn’t quite fit right. A nostalgic ache pulls at her. She misses that girl. She misses _being_ that girl. The one with conviction. The one with the naïve belief in the good of society.

His smile fades a little at her silence. She doesn’t like that much either, so she rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t underestimate me.”

He doesn’t respond immediately—he just keeps _looking_ at her with those knowing eyes. An expression flits across his face that she can’t quite catch, but his smile comes back.

“I never could,” he says softly.

She blinks and looks away, tucking her hair behind her ears unconsciously. She can feel the tips of her ears warming. “Um…so what about it? Dinner?”

“Alright,” he says, slipping into his signature slouch. “But there’s a diner close by that I recommend instead. The curry shop doesn’t hold a candle to Boss’s cooking.”

* * *

“So…” Ren studies her from across the diner booth. “Why are you moving out here? I thought you liked your place in Shibuya.”

Makoto hesitates, not meeting his eyes as she flips through the menu. “I um…I’m starting a master’s degree at the University of Tokyo.”

There is no immediate response, so her eyes flit up to gage his reaction. His brows are drawn together, and confusion clouds his expression. “You left the police force? But what about—”

“Just trying something new.” She cuts him off. “Anyways, enough about me, how are you? Where is Morgana? Isn’t he still staying with you?”

Ren looks like he wants to say something but decides against it. “Oh, he’ll turn up eventually. You know that Morgana does what he wants. I’ve been working a lot lately, so I think he’s been bored hanging around me.”

“And I roped you into this on your day off! I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I would have been running errands all day anyway. Besides,” he gives her another one of those charming smiles, “it’s always good to see an old friend.”

 _Old friend._ Yes. That’s right. They’d been friends for a decade, after all—and it’s not easy to break the bonds formed from killing a false god. Even though she’s been aloof for the last little while, she does still consider all the former Phantom Thieves to be friends.

They sit in silence for a moment. Intuitive as he’s always been, Ren seems to pick up on her pensive mood and doesn’t interrupt her, choosing instead to browse the menu. Mellow jazz plays softly overhead, and there is a low hum of conversation from the few other patrons in the diner. Outside, the rain continues to come down.

A perky server comes by to take their order. They both order nostalgic steaks and they share a little laugh at the irony.

“How’s work?” Makoto asks, after the server leaves. “Other than busy. You were promoted over the winter, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I—” Ren pauses. “Wait, how did you know about my promotion?”

“You shared it in the group chat.” His announcement had caused quite a stir in the former Phantom Thieves group chat. Ryuji had immediately announced that they had to go out to celebrate. Whatever celebration happened that night had been capped off with a photo of Ren, Ryuji and Yusuke passed out in a booth at Leblanc, with a grinning Futaba in the corner of the picture, holding the marker she used to draw all over their faces.

“I didn’t realize you saw that.” He’s looking at her with a small frown tugging at his lips.

“Of course, I did. I even congratulated you. Though I can understand if you missed it in the flurry of messages.” It gets a bit tough to keep up, because when Futaba and Yusuke get into an argument, or Ryuji gets excited, the messages can come in faster than even she can read.

“But you didn’t…” There is a pause. He seems to change his mind. He shakes his head a little, as if clearing his thoughts. “Work is good. We’ve been doing research for a new proposal that Yoshida-san is trying to bring forward. There’s a lot of pressure from other Diet members, so we’re under the gun a bit.” He rubs his neck. “It’s a good piece of legislation though. It’ll benefit a lot of people if we can get it passed.”

Makoto studies him. It’s astounding, she thinks to herself, how he can maintain such a strong sense of purpose and self, no matter where he goes. It was one of the things that drew her to him, all those years ago.

“Well I can see why you’re working so hard then,” she says softly.

And she gets that feeling again—the same one she gets when she sees Ann on another magazine cover, or reads another art critic’s glowing review of Yusuke’s exhibition, or hears about another new and exciting offering by Okumura Foods—that feeling of getting left behind. Like everyone else in the world is moving forward, towards their goals, to a place where she can’t seem to follow. Her shoulders drop.

He looks at her for a moment, as if trying to come to a decision. “Makoto.” His voice is quiet, serious. “What’s going on with you?”

“W-what?” She pulls back a little. “Nothing! I’m doing fine.” _That doesn’t sound convincing._ “Good.” _Better._ “Great! I’m doing great!” _There we go._

“When we ran into each other, you were rain soaked with an elevator full of soggy boxes. That’s probably not great.”

Makoto flushes. “Okay. So not great.” She fidgets with her fingers. “But I’m doing well.”

Ren gives her a slightly disbelieving look.

“Seriously,” she insists, “I’m good. I’m actually doing a lot better now than I was before.”

“I didn’t realize you were having a hard time before,” he comments absently. He sounds _too_ casual, like he’s only pretending. 

“I…” She shifts in her seat. “I wasn’t really having a hard time. I just needed some change.”

Ren doesn’t respond right away. Makoto can’t bring herself to look at him yet, not quite sure what she’ll see in his expression. He’d always been easy to talk to. Easy to open up to. It was easy to tell him everything. But she didn’t know if she was ready for that yet. It’s been so long.

“When did you leave the police force?”

“Oh.” Her eyes dart to his face and away before she can read his expression. She should have known that _Ren_ of all people would be able to see right through her. “About six months ago.”

“Six months? And you didn’t tell any of us?”

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret.” She stumbles over her words, not sure where she was going. “I just…wasn’t ready to tell anybody yet.”

She keeps her eyes on her fists clenched in front of her. Without looking at him, she can sense his posture softening. She’s already imagining the pity in his eyes. She hates that.

“Well, I’m here when you’re ready.”

Makoto’s eyes drift up to meet Ren’s. There’s no pity in his gaze, but a strange gentleness that she doesn’t quite understand. She bites her lip and nods, looking away.

“So, what are you studying in graduate school?”

“Comparative, historical, and theoretical law.” He seems to sense that she has more to say, so he waits. “I’m not quitting. I still…” She clenches and unclenches her fists as she thinks. “I still want to make a difference.”

She chances a glance at his face. He’s still watching her with those clear eyes; no judgement to be found.

“I didn’t stop being a police officer because I don’t care.” She finds the words spilling out of her. Suddenly, despite her earlier hesitation, it’s _imperative_ that he understands. “I care. I care a lot. There was just so much…injustice in the system and I couldn’t—there wasn’t a way for me to—” She breaks off, frustrated that she can’t find the perfect words.

Ren leans forwards in his seat, catching her attention. His gaze, grey and focused, is intent on her face. He’s looking at her again, like he’s trying to understand. It’s a look Makoto is familiar with—she has memories of this expression from a decade ago. Memories of a boy, soft and inquisitive, but still strong and encouraging. They’d known each other better than almost anyone else back then, but time and distance took their toll. She wonders how much of him remains the same.

His hands flex against the surface of the table. _Like he wants to reach for her hand,_ her ridiculous brain supplies. She shoves the thought out of her mind. Their eye contact is a physical thing, pulling her in and holding her there. It feels as though whatever he says next is the most important thing in the world. 

“I understand,” he says simply.

And just like that, it feels like a load has fallen off her shoulders. _I understand._ It’s that simple.

Back when they were the Phantom Thieves, there’d always been something about him. The reason they made him their leader. The reason they all followed him. He was charismatic, but it went deeper than that. Something about him made everyone crave his support. His approval. Everyone wanted to be _seen_ by him. Getting older didn’t lessen the strength of his draw.

Makoto stares at the short distance between their hands, half wishing that he’d reached out. She thinks about the freedom and terror that come with the ordeal of being fully and truly _known._

She takes a deep breath in and exhales shakily. She looks at Ren with a tiny smile. He smiles right back.

Their moment is broken as the server comes up to their table and sets their steaks down. Makoto snaps back into her seat quickly, while Ren reacts slower, moving his arm to the back of his booth seat with a thoughtful look.

“W-well,” she claps her hands together, _"Itadakimasu.”_

 _"Itadakimasu,”_ he repeats, his eyes on hers and his words soft.


End file.
